


The Pothole Prevention

by LulaIsAKitten



Series: First Misses [16]
Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-16 02:30:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20165758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LulaIsAKitten/pseuds/LulaIsAKitten





	The Pothole Prevention

“Right,” Wardle said, looking around at the carnage before him. “I don’t even want to think about the paperwork this is going to produce.”

He turned and regarded Strike and Robin. Robin looked a little shaky, but none the worse for wear. Strike’s left eye was rapidly swelling shut, and he was idly rubbing his wrist with the opposite hand, but he appeared no more than superficially harmed.

Behind them, two police officers were bundling the suspect down the stairs towards the waiting police van. Blue flashes from the vehicles outside echoed up the stairs, illuminating the dark room in a pulsing glow, revealing broken furniture and a scattering of drugs paraphernalia. Forensic officers were already taping off areas and taking photographs, the white flashes only adding to the eerie atmosphere. The huge haul of heroin that had been hidden in the internal workings of the grotty sofa in the corner were being catalogued and packed into evidence bags.

“I’m gonna go in the van. Think we’ll need to go via the hospital,” the policeman added. He smirked a little at Strike. “Could you not try to apprehend suspects a little more _gently_? It’s not essential to beat the crap out of them every time, you know.”

Strike had the grace to look slightly shamefaced. This one hadn’t put up as much of a fight as some of the others. He probably hadn’t needed to hit him quite so hard.

“Just making sure,” he said.

Wardle rolled his eyes a little. “Saves me half the paperwork if we can go straight to the station and miss out the hospital.”

“Saves you all the paperwork if we just let them go free,” Robin retorted, and both men eyed her with surprise. She flushed a little. “Well,” she muttered.

There was brief, amused eye contact between the detective and the detective inspector, hurriedly broken before Robin could spot it. Wardle cleared his throat.

“Well, I’ll get Jones here to drive you back to your respective places of abode,” he said. “Or wherever you want to go.”

The insinuation hung in the air. Robin flushed again and looked at the floor.

“Our own places is fine, thank you,” Strike said firmly. “Robin’s first, she’s nearer.”

Wardle nodded. “Off you go, then,” he said. He hesitated. “And thanks, as always,” he added, reluctantly.

Strike grinned at him. “Just saving you a job,” he said.

Wardle shook his head fondly. “Off with you,” he said. “And put some ice on that eye.”

“Will do.” Strike turned to Robin and they moved towards the stairs. “You all right?” he murmured quietly.

“I’m fine.” But her voice was tight. Strike sighed a little. He hated her to witness the less-than-gentle side of him, not wanting to give her any reason to fear him. But there was something about a heroin dealer in particular that brought out the ugly anger from a place deep in his psyche that he had firmly sat on for almost twenty years.

They descended to the street in silence and climbed into the back of the waiting police car. The officer Wardle had sent with them, Jones, climbed into the driver’s seat and they set off. Robin spoke only to give her address, and then the journey proceeded in silence.

Strike glanced across at his partner. Her profile was set. Not stony, but not relaxed. He sighed inwardly. He should say something.

He hesitated, pondering how. But he didn't have long. They’d be dropping Robin first, and he wouldn’t see her now until Monday. He eyed the back of the police officer’s head and wondered how much he might hear from the front. “Robin...” he murmured.

She looked across at him, her face carefully neutral. “Mm?”

“Are you—? I mean, I—” Strike stumbled to a halt. “I’m sorry,” he said, helplessly.

She frowned at him, puzzled. “What for?”

He shrugged. “Being OTT. Losing my rag. Being violent, I guess.”

Robin looked at him searchingly. “He needed apprehending, Cormoran, and he wasn’t going to sit quietly and wait for Wardle to arrive.”

“I know, but I didn’t want you to witness—”

Anger flashed in her eyes. “What, because I’m too delicate to take it?”

“No!” Strike cut his gaze to the back of the officer’s head and modulated his voice. “No. Because... Because the fact that he was a heroin dealer made me see red. And I—” he hesitated, then ploughed on “—I don’t want you to be afraid of me.”

Robin stared at him for so long, he began to feel uncomfortable. He dropped his gaze to his lap, rubbing at his sore wrist again. He had hit the guy pretty hard. The skin across his knuckles was split, too.

“Cormoran,” Robin said quietly, and he looked back up at her. Light and shadow passed across her face as the car slid smoothly along beneath the street lights. They lurched a little as they swung into a side road. Not far now.

Robin held his gaze. “You weren’t out of control,” she said firmly. “You hit him once, enough to stop him, and then you held him down till Wardle arrived. With your strength and boxing past, you could have killed him if you’d wanted. You didn’t even knock him out.”

Strike didn’t reply, gazing back at her. Her face softened.

“I’m not afraid of you, Cormoran. I’ve never been afraid of you. I don’t think I could be.” She reached out and put her hand on his in his lap, her fingers stroking absently across his injured wrist. “I know some people look at an ex-Army boxer and think danger, but I’ve never seen you use your strength when it wasn’t needed or warranted.”

Strike nodded. They looked at one another, and the moment stretched. Her hand was warm on his wrist. Without realising he was going to do it, he slid his other hand over hers, a gentle touch that was almost a caress. Robin’s hand moved automatically as he did so, and suddenly their fingers were tangled together.

His heart began to pound. Her soft look was suddenly more intense, he thought, but with her face half in shadow, it was hard to read. For a moment he was torn, hovering between the hope that she meant something more, and the fear that she was just being friendly and he was reading too much into a gesture of comfort.

The car swung around another corner and Robin swayed towards him a little. Her mouth curved into a smile. “Cormoran...” she murmured again, and suddenly she was so _close_, and he didn’t know whether that was the movement of the car, or whether she’d leaned. His breath caught in his throat, his eyes still held by hers—

There was a bang and a lurch, and Strike almost hit his head on the roof of the police car. Robin was thrown against her door.

The police officer swore. “Fuck, sorry, guys,” he called over his shoulder. “Massive pothole, didn’t see it till too late. You all right back there?”

“Yup.” Strike’s voice was hoarse and he cleared his throat.

“Yup,” Robin called, and he had to assume the wobble in her voice was from the jolt. Her hand was gone from his, braced now against the back of the seat in front, her eyes wide with shock. “All present and correct.”

“Bloody council cuts,” the policeman muttered. “Roads are getting worse and worse. Anyway, this is you.” He swung the car to the side of the road and Robin opened the door.

“I’ll walk you—” Strike began.

“No need, my door is just right there,” Robin waved a hand as she climbed out. He nodded. Her door was on the street not ten feet from them. He had no reason to get out of the car.

“Robin—”

She leaned back down and grinned across at him, her normal Robin grin. “Fun Friday night,” she joked. “We should do it again some time. See you Monday?”

He hesitated, but she was looking at him just like always, and the police officer was right there, smiling across at Robin too. Strike capitulated.

“Yeah.” He laughed a little. “See you Monday.”

Robin slammed the door. They waited until she had let herself in at her front door and closed it behind her, and then the car pulled back out into the road and set off towards Denmark Street.

Strike sighed and leaned his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes.


End file.
